


Good for the Soul

by Aelyna



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Aftermath, Dealing With Trauma, Disordered Eating, Fasting, Gen, Insomnia, PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Restricting, Trauma, disordered exercise, over-exercising, restriction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-21 01:56:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12447096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelyna/pseuds/Aelyna
Summary: Post-rescue, Ash is trying to get back into the rhythm of life aboard ship, but he feels a little out of step.





	Good for the Soul

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Disordered eating and over-exercising.

He woke to a phantom touch.

It wasn't uncommon, and it only took a moment to shake off the feeling. He sat up, checked the clock – 4.30am – and fetched a glass of water. Alpha shift didn't start for hours, but he wouldn't sleep in the intervening time; so he headed to the gym. The Discovery might be a science vessel, but it was still Starfleet, and the gym was state of the art – they even had a pool.

He passed the Mess, sparsely populated by exhausted Delta shifters on break, but didn't stop. He'd been fasting for a few days. Fast to cleanse the soul, his mother had taught him. Never more than a day though, don't get sick – _God doesn't want you get sick, Ashir_. Her voice spoke loud in his head, but he was on day four.

No food and little sleep left him feeling lighter than he had in months, and he relished the feeling, so he ran circuits until he felt like he was flying.

When the world briefly went darker than usual, he stopped, braced an arm against the wall, and let the world come back into focus before he started at the punchbag.

If running was flying, boxing brought him back to Earth, back home. His mother had finished her military service when he was very young, but she'd always been willing to teach her eager son. And it didn't matter how dark the world got, if his view was narrowed to a spot on a punchbag, he could see just fine.

He wasn't sure how long he was there, he had decades of drills living in his muscles, and his mind emptied while his body did the work. He only stopped when the comm announced an hour until Alpha Shift. The pool beckoned.

The plan was to wash the sweat off, swim a few lengths, and arrive for shift; refreshed and ready for action. Maybe he'd break-fast at lunch. He was on shift with Tilly for the first time in a week, and she'd fuss if he didn't eat. He liked Tilly, he really did, but he hated fussing.

Maybe Michael would join them. They hadn't fallen into a complimentary shift rotation in a while either. Michael didn't fuss, she barely spoke, but he liked her too; he liked the way she held herself, more like a soldier than a scientist.

These pleasant, mundane, plans kept him occupied through changing. The only thing he didn’t like about Discovery's gorgeous gym – the mirror in the changing area. It was hard to avoid.

When he sunk into the pool, the delightfully cool water washed away the lingering shudder that sometimes lived under his skin, and he slipped beneath the surface – living in watery silence for a handful of seconds he wished could have stretched on and on. When he surfaced, the usually empty pool had been invaded by a pale blond, a few years older, looking at the water with the distrust of a Vulcan.

The man didn't step a toe in until Dr Culber emerged from the changing area and gave him a gentle shove. “We're doing this.”  
“It's so early...”  
“An early cardiovascular workout is good for the brain – and what's good for _that_ brain, is good for the ship.” The blond finally braved the water, with much shuddering and complaining. Ash hid his grin and kept swimming lengths.

Both the doctor and his reluctant patient were in by the time Ash caught Culber's. The doctor flashed a friendly smile, but didn't initiate a conversation. The man had a respectful, professional, manner; one he didn't shed off duty. Ash liked that. There was a lot to like about this ship.

“You're that POW! Lorca's new best friend.” And then there was this...

Shard's of ice crystallised in Ash's chest. Gossip had always been his least favourite part of life aboard ship – made a thousand times worse now he was the focus of it.  
“Paul, are you going to chat, or swim?” The doctor asked, trying to draw his wayward companion's attention, Ash appreciated it, but the man was persistent.  
“Can I chat? Wanna chat, POW?”  
“Tyler. Lieutenant Tyler. And I'd better get back to it.” Ash swam away at pace, he'd do a few last lengths and escape before the blond caught him again.

He'd shower and shave and dress in his pressed, clean, uniform, and he'd eat today – with Tilly. And maybe he'd see Michael Burnham again. He wondered if she knew any Suus Mahna? He hadn't had a chance to ask her. He'd swap a duty shift for a lesson in the Vulcan martial art – he could teach his mother something, when he got home. She'd love that.

_God knows when you're lying, even when you're lying to yourself, God knows Ashir._

She could have spoken in his ear, he heard her that clearly. He gasped, and it was only then he realised he'd sunk beneath the surface. He choked and flailed, and he would have gotten control of himself and his heavy limbs, and gained the surface and been fine, if the blond hadn't gotten hold of his arms first.

“Jesus Christ!” Ash coughed chlorine-tainted water onto the tiles while his rescuer squawked in his ear, “Are you okay? Are you alright? Is he alright? Hugh is he--”  
“Just – let me look at him sweetheart, and I'll tell you. Okay? Paul – let go, I've got him.” Then Pale Paul's hands were replaced by Culber's steadier ones, and he was being looked at by soft, non-judgemental, doctor's eyes.  
“Lieutenant?”  
“Ash Tyler – I'm on board the Starship Discovery, do you want the Stardate, my rank and number?” He sat up, noticing a faint, faintly concerning tremor in his limbs.  
“I'd like to know if you know why you just fainted?”  
“I...” Don't lie to a doctor, Ash, you damned fool. “I think I may have over-exerted myself Doc. I didn't sleep well, and... I've been fasting...”  
“Paul, go and fetch the Lieutenant a towel please.” Paul acquiesced silently, leaving only a damp handprint on Culber's shoulder.

“How long have you been fasting?”  
“This is... um... day four?” He winced, but Culber just nodded, serene as ever.  
“And how much have you slept this week?”  
“Er... not more than three or four hours in one sitting, you know... not since I got back, actually...” Culber nodded again, just a shallow incline of the head, as though he already knew, and Ash was just confirming his hypothesis. Once again Ash felt like he was floating, like he could say anything and the wind in the clouds would just whisk it away.

“I've been running, instead of sleeping, and swimming... just working out. I've been overdoing it. I know that.”  
“Yes,” Culber said.  
“What's wrong with me, Doc?”  
“Physically? Exhaustion, muscle fatigue, hypoglycaemia I imagine. Nothing a few days rest and a few hypos won't fix.”  
“Yeah... but why... stupid question, I suppose?”  
“Why aren't you sleeping? Why did you stop eating? Over-exercising?” It was Ash's turn to nod, so he did. His head felt heavy.

“Trauma, probably. A delayed reaction. You refused psychiatric treatment when you first got here – after the initial assessment recommended it.”  
“I just wanted to get back to normal as quickly as possible.”  
“Sometimes, we have to adjust to a new normal. Sometimes we need help with that.” Ash let his head thunk back against the wet tiles. God he was cold. And hungry. He felt the ice in his chest crack a rib, when he tried to take a breath.

“You make whatever referrals you think I need Doc. But I think today... I'd like to be confined to quarters, rather than the medical bay.”  
“Of course, I'd like you to breakfast in medical, and I'll administer basic treatment, then you're welcome to do as you please with the rest of the day – as long as you don't workout.”

Paul Stamets brought a pile of towels taller than Ash, and kept offering them up, as though the three he had already forced on him weren't sufficient. As much as he hated fussing, Ash had to admit the scientist's awkward attempt endeared him somewhat.

Stamets even hung around medical until Ash had finished eating, so he could walk him back to quarters. “I'll make your apologies to the bridge, if you like?” Ash nodded, almost touched. “Right then... I'd better see you in mess for lunch, or Hugh'll send me looking for you.”  
“Understood.”  
“Well then... good. You rest up, Lieutenant Tyler.”  
“Ash,” Ash said,  
“Stamets – if you like. No one calls me Paul.”  
“Thanks, Stamets. My thanks to the Doc as well.” Stamets nodded, then marched off. He was an odd one, but his brusque manner wasn't representative of his heart.

Inside his quiet quarters, Ash lent his head against the door. He'd eaten, he had a sedative hypo to help with the sleeping, and he knew Culber would have penned him for a few months psych treatment. But all he wanted to do was call his mother.

They'd spoken briefly, a few times, since he'd been rescued. The first time she'd seen him, she'd gasped and sobbed and just seemed so unlike herself that he hadn't been able to talk to her for long. And since then he couldn't quite bring himself to discuss anything, not properly. She'd ask, at first, and he'd put an end to the conversation. So now she didn't ask, but she gave him her Look, and he felt guilty, and ashamed, and desperate to be locked in their sitting room with her and a cup of tea and the promise that he wasn't going anywhere until he spilled his guts.

Confession had never been part of their tradition, but he felt it might be necessary.

It was as good for the soul as fasting.

 


End file.
